Make Some Noise: The Killjoy Experience
by LittleBlueYou7
Summary: Tristan Rye, a citizen of Battery City, follows a Killjoy out of the "better" way of living. She finds family in the desert and learns what living really is.
1. Look Alive, Sunshine

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Killjoys. The Killjoys own you.**

Tristan opened her eyes and blinked away the remnants of sleep—and her dream. She sighed and rolled onto her side so she faced the door of the small room. She could vaguely see the outline of it with the pre-dawn light coming through the opposite wall, which was made entirely of glass.

The dream Tristan just woke from sprang into her mind again. It wasn't much of a dream, though, because it was made up of what snatches of memory she did have of the fires of 2012: suffocating heat, walls of leaping flame, a crumbling building, and then the choking ash and the pyre of smoke rising from the building she had just escaped from. Then there were slightly clearer memories: fatigue, hunger, and fear, and then the sound of fast wind and another sound she couldn't identify until a white helicopter came into her view above her. A smiling face with featured blurred from forgetfulness saying, "Don't worry, everything is going to be fine."

All of the scenes from the dream were blurry and short with forgetfulness over the years. The daily medication for seven years made her forget a lot of the past, but that was perfectly fine with her. She didn't know what exactly had happened that day, but from what she knew the outcome to be, she didn't want to. The fires of 2012 had destroyed her house and killed her parents, who had been trapped inside. Tristan had only barely escaped the same fate. She had been on her own for days before a rescue chopper had found her. She had only been nine when it had all happened.

Tristan held her hand up to gaze at the pale, perfect skin. She had been burned by the fire and had almost died of infection, but thanks to Better Living Industries' expert medical care, she didn't even have a scar to prove it had happened.

Tristan sat up in her bed. 6:52 scrolled across the Message Bar hanging on the wall she was facing, followed by September 3rd, 2019. As a sort of side thought, Tristan realized that she would be turning sixteen on the 8th—five days from now.

7:00 was when medication would be distributed in the Dining Lounge along with breakfast. Classes would begin at 9:00, and the day would go about in its regular, orderly routine.

At exactly seven, Tristan left the warmth of her bed and grabbed white pants, a white shirt, and her white shoes for the day from her closet, then went to the bathroom for a shower. She didn't want to waste time or water , so she hurried and then got dressed. She then dried her hair and worked to make the mess of shoulder-length reddish-orange neat and smooth. Keeping her hair straight was hard, since her hair tended to want to stick up out of place instead of staying sleek. The BLI shampoo and conditioner did a lot of the hard work on making it straight and silky, and the hair gel she was given finished the job.

Tristan often wondered in the morning from which of her parents she get her wild hair from. It made her sad for no reason at all, so she was glad that she was getting her medication soon. It would push those sad, unnecessary thoughts away and would keep her happy throughout the morning.

Tristan took her identification card from the nightstand and left her room, quietly passing the other rooms lining the hall to get to the bank of three elevators at the far end of the hall. Rooms were assigned according to age: girls ages zero to nine were on the third floor, then boys zero to nine on the fourth, and above that was girls ten through eighteen—where Tristan was—and then finally it was the boys of the same age group on the sixth and highest floor of the building. The building itself was connected to the Education Facility next to it, which was open to all of the children in Battery City instead of just the lost and orphaned that stayed in the Abandoned Child Housing Facility.

Tristan pressed the button with the down arrow; it lit up, and she waited for an elevator to arrive; An elevator only took seconds to do so. She entered and pushed the button for floor 2—the Dining Lounge.

When she got off of the elevator, she headed for the vending machines along the left wall for food and pill distribution. Long white tables stood in the room, and children were seated according to age and gender. The room was silent except for the sounds of eating.

From the line of white vending machines, Tristan got a Power Water, a can of Breakfast Medley (a mixture of sausage, eggs, bacon, and hash brown in one convenient can), and her medication. All of this was taken by the scan of the identification card around her neck.

She went to her assigned table, where two other fifteen-year-old girls were also seated. None of them looked up when Tristan took her seat, and she paid them just as much attention. When Tristan opened the bottle of medication that was bigger than usual (the bottles were usually the size of two tablets), she found a rolled up piece of paper inside. She took it out and read:

_You are about to experience Better Living Industries' improved medication. Like our previous medication, two tablets are to be taken with or without food or beverage, but only one dose is now required per day because of the stronger, longer-lasting effect. Enjoy!_

Tristan shook the two white tablets from the bottle. She replaced the piece of paper, screwed the bottle cap on, and took the two pills at once. She was about to take a sip of Power Water when her throat tickled, making her cough. She set the water down and waited for the coughing to subside. When she took a deep breath, she found it difficult to get the air to her lungs. When she took another breath, she was stricken with horror. No air could pass into her throat now, and she couldn't breathe.

Tristan choked, still trying in vain to breathe, but the air wouldn't make it through. Her lungs started to burn, reminding her of her dream. It made her panic even more. What was happening? Her attempts for air caught the attention of the other girls at the table. They stared at Tristan with confusion.

Black spots started to dot her vision, she was feeling light-headed, and her lungs were burning with suffocation. _I'm going to die,_ Tristan thought fearfully. _I'm going to die._

The elevators opened, and people dressed in white swarmed out. They made it to the table just as Tristan lost consciousness.

Tristan peeled her eyes open to a harsh light. Why was the light on so bright? And why was it on in the first place if she was asleep? She remembered turning it off before getting into bed…

Squinting, she sat up. Instead of her room, she was in one at a hospital. An IV was in her arm, and machinery beeped to her left. What was going on? Tristan remembered going down to the Dining Lounge, then she got her breakfast, and then opened her medication bottle…

Before she could try and figure the rest of it out, a woman came in wheeling a cart. "Oh good, you're awake," she said cheerfully. She left her cart outside the door and came in with one of the trays that had been on it. On the tray was a paper cup of water, a bowl of soup, and two pills. "This is the medication you were taking before," the nurse said at Tristan's hesitant expression.

"What happened?" Tristan asked.

"Allergic reaction to the new medication," the nurse replied with a disapproving frown. Then, with a sunny smile, she added, "We're taking care of that problem right away so you can have the same improvements as others are given. If you need anything, that button will pull up a Transmitter." The nurse pointed out a button on the side of the bed.

"Thank you," Tristan said politely. With another smile, the nurse left.

With a sigh, Tristan picked up the two tablets. An allergic reaction. She wondered what she had been allergic to in the new medication that wasn't in the old pills.

She was about to take the pills when she noticed a folded up piece of paper in the square of the tray that the tablets had been in. Tristan probably wouldn't have noticed it if not for the red ink that had bled through; the paper itself blended in with the white plastic of the tray, making it nearly invisible.

To be safe, Tristan set the tablets down by the soup bowl and scraped the paper out of the tray. It might be more instructions from the nurse that were important. She unfolded the paper and read, DON'T TAKE THE PILLS. P.S. BEWARE OF CAMERAS. The note was written on BLI stationary, so at the bottom was the black smiley face logo. It was crossed out with the red pen.

Tristan blinked at the note and read it through again. Who could this be from? There was no signature, just the simple instructions and the X through the smiley face. What did the writer mean when he or she crossed it out? Could the note have been from the nurse? That seemed unlikely, since she was the one who gave Tristan the medication. A more important question came up in her mind: Should she listen to the note or ignore it?

Tristan wished that this person would have told her this to her face so she could ask these questions. Well, for whatever reason the note-writer had, it had to be a good one, right? She began formulating a plan in her head. She wouldn't take the pills, and then she would figure out who wrote the note and get some questions answered. Before sorting out more details, she had to get rid of both the note and the pills.

Trying to be discreet, Tristan searched high on the walls for a camera. There seemed to be only one, and it was in the corner of the room, pointing at the bed. Whoever was watching the cameras had probably seen her pick up the note and read it, but maybe they hadn't paid close enough attention to see that?

I can't mess up anymore, Tristan thought to herself. She made a bit of a show of putting the tablets into her palm and slapping her hand over her closed mouth. She angled her slightly cupped hand towards her so they couldn't see the medication she still held. She was suddenly grateful for the pockets in her pants that she never seemed to use as she slipped the pills in. The note still lay in Tristan's lap; as she ate soup with her right hand, she used her left hand to cram the paper into the pocket opposite of the one containing the pills. She finished the soup, downed the water in two gulps, and hoped that no one coming into her room in that amount of time meant that no one had seen her read the note.

Tristan put the tray on the bedside table and and casually walked to the small bathroom in her room that was across from the door to the hallway. As quickly as she could, Tristan took the note, ripped it into tiny pieces, took the pills, and threw it all into the toilet. After a moment's hesitation to decide if this was the right thing to do, she flushed the toilet with the answer to her question: She'll just have to wait and see.

The second part of Tristan's plan was harder to sort out than the first. How would she begin to look for whoever had given her the note? And how would they even know if she had taken the pills or not? How did this person know who she was? Was this person writing notes to everyone?

She went through the possibilities in her head for another five or so minutes before she was startled from her thinking by the door opening. Her heart leapt in her chest, but only for a moment; it was just the nurse from before, and she was smiling. Tristan hadn't been caught.

"All done with this?" the nurse asked in a voice as sunny as her grin. Tristan simply nodded and smiled back. The nurse took the tray from where Tristan had left it on the bedside table and exited the room again. After breathing a sigh of relief, Tristan realized that she had nothing else to do in order to pass the time.

A Message Bar was on the wall to her left; it said that it was 10:37 a.m. I should be in school right now, Tristan thought. She would be in History at this time, learning about how, in short, America had been leading up to its own destruction for years. She would have to go to the teacher for an audio recording of the class and get it copied onto her Study Chip, along with her other classes.

Desperate for something to do, Tristan opened the drawer of the end table. In it she found three pens and a pad of paper. The paper was identical to what the note had been written on. She took all three pens and scribbled on the paper with each one: the two white plastic pens had black ink, but the black pen had red ink. Another patient must have written the note and slipped it onto Tristan's tray. This fact wasn't a lot of help narrowing down the possibilities, but at least she had a start.

Tristan placed the pens and paper back into the drawer and slumped back onto her bed in a laying position. This whole morning made her tired, what with the lack of sleep the night before, the allergic reaction, and all of this thinking. Even in school she didn't think this much—school was more about listening and absorbing than generating original thoughts of her own. Soon, her eyes drifted closed, and she was asleep again.

**Please don't think this is too boring yet, there's better stuff to come, I promise. At least I THINK it's better. But yeah.**


	2. I'd Rather Go To Hell

Live Wire paced his blindingly white room again. Since he slipped the note onto Tristan's lunch tray, he hadn't been able to sit still. Not like he did much of that anyway, but he's been particularly restless since then. Questions whirled in his head: Would she listen? Did she report the note and was someone looking for who was responsible for it right now? Would he be able to carry out the next part of the plan ("the plan" being half an idea he had all but pulled out of his ass two minutes ago) without being caught? What would happen if he failed?

Live Wire didn't like to dwell on what ifs and worries any more than necessary. He would carry out the new phase of the plan and eventually get out of this goddamned hospital. Hopefully, Tristan would be coming along with him.

He didn't want to delay any longer—the sooner he broke out of this hospital room, the better. He opened the drawer of the end table and stuck his hand (the one without the bandage—fuckin' Drac shot his hand, but he returned the favor with a shot to the head) into the back left corner and pulled out a silver chain. On the chain hung two keys. He'd had a hell of a time stealing them, but he didn't think anyone missed them from the front desk yet.

Wire sat on the bed and pressed the button on the bed's side panel for the Transmitter. A new model slid up—one, he found out yesterday, that required the keys. He slid the key with a "1" on the side into the side of the Transmitter. When he turned the key, the black screen lit up with "Select Number Sequence" and a number pad zero through nine below that. He quickly pressed his finger to the one and two (a _touch screen _model now, the fancy fucks) so he could get this done as soon as possible. He didn't want to get caught in the act now.

The screen went blank before a second number pad came up. Six numbers wouldn't stop counting up at different speeds until he inserted the key marked "2" under the first key and twisted it in the opposite direction of the first. The numbers stopped at 76, 02, 36, 31, 01, and 78. He had the code of Transmitter 7 memorized: 78, 01, 76, 31, 02, 36.

The screen cleared again, and this time the familiar image of his hideout came up. Live Wire's Killjoy group stayed in a small gothic-style church plenty big enough for the five of them and plenty of supplies, plus the stone walls kept the inside at an almost pleasant temperature. The Transmitter was in the room behind the altar of the church, where no one currently was. Wire was annoyed before he heard someone ask, "Was that the Transmitter?" A second later, a tall boy with black hair and blood-red bangs that flopped into his eyes bounded into the Transmitter's view.

"Hey, Cure," Live Wire greeted with a smile.

"Little brother!" Corrosive Cure shouted happily as he sat on the counter in front of the Transmitter. "Change your mind about a little jailbreak courtesy of your big bro?"

"Naw, don't go and storm the place. I can get out of here without all of you guys risking capture."

Cure sighed. "But it would be so much _fun. _And you would be indebted to me, oh, forever?"

The right corner of Live Wire's mouth curved up. "Sorry, but I got some shit to do here."

"Oh? And when do you think I will be gifted with the sight of your face again?"

"I dunno. It's all part of the plan."

"Jesus Christ, what is this _plan_? They're never good."

Live Wire, taking offense, pointed at his brother's image. "Hey, that last plan was _great._ We're all alive, aren't we?"

Corrosive Cure laughed. "Yeah, we're alive, all right. By the way, how's it going, being a Draculoid and all?"

"Mm, greeeat." Wire rolled his eyes. "You have _no_ _idea _how hard it is to act like a brain-dead zombie, man. But it was worth it if it helped Double D out. How's he doing?"

Cure shook his head. "He's burnin' through it too quick. We're trying to make him take smaller hits, but he ain't Death Dose for nothin'."

"Damn it, try harder. That last raid was way too close. I love the guy, but he's gotta quit the drugs."

"You don't just _quit _cocaine," Corrosive Cure snapped at his brother. "Don't you think he's trying? He knows that it's not good for anyone, but it's an addiction. You know this—you know how he feels—so lay off 'im, okay?"

Live Wire sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "God, I know, I'm sorry. I'm being an ass, but I just _hate _ithere_._"

"Then let us come and bust you out already!"

"I told you, there's some shit I gotta take care of. They have my prints, and I don't want them having anything they might be able to use against me." Wire hesitated, but then decided it would be best for his brother to know what else he was planning to do. "I'm also bringing someone out with me. Maybe."

Cure's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Another Killjoy's there?"

Live Wire looked down at his bandaged hand and messed with the white gauze. "Well, uh… no…"

His brother paused. "So you're bringing someone," he said slowly like he was trying to make sense of it, "who's _not _a Killjoy?" Wire glanced up, nodded, and then stared back down. Cure made an impatient noise. "Then it'd better be someone pretty fucking important, Wire."

Live Wire stopped messing with his bandage and planted his hands on either side of him. He looked up at his brother and said simply, "Tristan Rye."

Corrosive Cure paused again, but this time it was from being shocked into momentary speechlessness. "She's _alive_? I thought the fires got her entire family. Shit, man."

"I thought so, too, but it's her. She's got that crazy orange hair."

"Is that all you're going on?"

Wire squinted at his brother in a look that said _Are you really serious? _"Of _course _not. I also heard the name. Someone said that Tristan Rye had an allergic reaction to some new meds." He smirked. "They didn't seem happy about it."

"Wait," Cure demanded with a hand raised like he could physically make him stop, "she's been on the Happy Pills? Is she right now? I don't care _who _she is, if they've been Bleaching her this whole time—"

"I left her a note telling her not to take the pills."

"And did she listen to this note?"

"… I don't know yet."

Cure shook his head. "_Live _Wire_—_"

"I'll figure it out," Wire said to cut his brother off, "don't worry. If she didn't take them, I'm convincing her to come. If not… then I—I'll leave it alone." He nodded, but didn't look happy about the idea.

"Make sure you know what you're doing. You know that you don't always think these things through. Be careful."

"I'm always careful," Live Wire said to his brother's worried tone. Cure worried about him too much, but he could take care of himself just fine.

"You set yourself on fire once."

Shit, Wire forgot about that. "ONCE." He sighed, getting the point. "Yeah, I get it, I'll be careful. I should go, because someone might come in, and I gotta be _careful._"

Corrosive Cure smirked. "That's a good boy."

Live Wire tapped the screen to end the Transmission. He pulled the keys out of the side of the Transmitter and pressed the button to make it slide back down into the side of the bed. He got up while the Transmitter was still moving and put the chain of keys back into the corner of the drawer. It was 12:30, so lunch would be coming around at any time. Well, that and pills, but he would take those pills, throw them in the toilet, and then use the toilet to be extra spiteful. It made him feel better about being stuck in this bright white hellhole (but sometimes he felt better because he just REALLYhad to pee but waited to go until he got the meds to piss on).

Before a nurse could see him, Wire forced his facial features into Draculoid blankness. It almost hurt to do, but he managed to get it right when she came in with a tray. Right when she left, he let his face relax and went to the bathroom with the pills. As he watched them swirl down the toilet, he went over his plan for tonight in his head. If all went well, he would be free and fighting Better Living Industries by tomorrow.

**If anyone's actually out there, review so I know I'm actually posting this for someone.**


	3. Hide Your Body From the SCARECROW

3: Everybody Hide Your Body From the SCARECROW

Tristan woke up from dreams about every hour and fell asleep a minute or so after each time it happened. She didn't know why she was so tired. Was it the sudden stress when her life was so effortless before? Maybe it was an effect of withdrawal from the medication.

After laying in bed for a half hour, Tristan decided that she wouldn't be able to sleep again for awhile and got out of bed. There was a covered tray on the bedside table; she ripped off the plastic lid and scraped the pills away to look for another note. When she didn't find one in any of the tray's sections or the lid, she was disappointed. She was hoping for another clue as to who had sent the note to her.

The Message Bar read 1:26 a.m. Tristan wondered if she would be allowed to leave later today, and if they had come up with that new medication for her. Before she could think on that further, she heard a muffled voice that sounded like it was coming from the room to the left of hers. Who else would be up and talking to someone so late? She only had one guess.

Tristan got out of bed as quietly as she could and went over to the left wall. She pressed an ear against the wall, but the person's words weren't much clearer and still nowhere near decipherable. It did sound like a boy, though, so at least she figured out _something _about who the note-writer might be.

The boy's voice was the only one Tristan could hear. Was whoever he was talking to speaking too low for her to hear? Was he even talking to anybody? He could be some kind of lunatic. Maybe he stopped taking the pills and was hallucinating now. Tristan eyed the tray across the room and reconsidered her options. She wouldn't be curious about all of this if she took them, and she would be able to melt back into her life without any regrets. Regret and curiosity were two pointless emotions that those two tablets could take care of in the minutes it took for the medication to get to the brain.

She heard silence in the other room, then a door opening and closing.

A strange urge to run to the door and follow this person overtook Tristan. The strength of the emotion unsettled her and started a headache. So many emotions that she wasn't used to feeling was stretching her thin. If she took the pills, she wouldn't have to deal with any of it, and she would be happy again instead of being so… scattered. Tristan's own head shouldn't be this complicated. She glanced at the tray again, thinking that the two white tablets looked more appealing by the minute.

Tristan remembered the boy leaving. Being so distracted never would have happened if she'd been on the pills, she thought as she crossed the room to the door. She would find out who this boy was, ask why he didn't want her taking the medication, and if it wasn't for a good reason, she would take the pills and forget that this whole thing happened.

The door opened soundlessly, and Tristan poked her head through the gap into the hall. To the left was a few more doors and then the end of the hall, and to the right was a longer stretch of hallway. A flash of black and white disappeared around the corner. Tristan bit her lip, shut the door with a soft click that made her wince, and silently followed the figure.

Around the corner, the hallway widened out to a sort of lobby with a half a ring of desk to the right and four elevators to the left. The lobby itself acted as a four-way intersection point with four hallways branching out from the center of each wall. Tristan frowned, looking from one hallway to the next. There was no sign of telling where the boy had gone. She was practically blind with not knowing what he was planning to do or the hospital's layout.

For what seemed like a long time, she stood there and considered going back to her room, back to her medication, back to her life. For some reason, she couldn't turn around and do it. Instead, she stepped into the middle of the lobby so she could see down all four hallways at once. There was still nothing to indicate that anyone had recently passed through. Frustrated—yet another emotion to make her head hurt even more—she was about to turn back when an elevator opened.

Panic seized her breath and made her heart race. How could she explain being up in the middle of the night? They would know she didn't take her medication, and then she would get in trouble for it, and who knows how they punish people who don't take the pills? They'll think she's a traitor.

Tristan's fear turned out to be unnecessary. The person on the elevator looked to be a few years older than her because he was so tall. He was wearing the same white clothes she was dressed in, and his hair was jet black, too long, and a complete mess. His eyes, which were wide with seeing Tristan in front of the elevator, were a startling shade of bright blue.

"What are you doing here?" the boy asked as he stepped out of the elevator.

Tristan didn't want to be explaining anything to him. _He _should be the one answering _her _questions. "Are you the one who gave me that note?"

"Did you listen to me?"

"Yes, but—"

She was cut off by another elevator dinging and sliding open. The boy's eyes widened, and he hammered the down button with his fist. The doors opened immediately just as the other elevator's passengers stepped out and saw them. The nurse who pushed the meal cart was flanked by two men wearing white. They were also wearing grotesque rubber masks with fangs and fake tufts of black hair. "That's him—" the nurse said, "the Killjoy—get him!"

Tristan was suddenly yanked backwards. She gasped and stumbled into the elevator beside the boy—the Killjoy, whatever that was. He kicked one of the approaching masked men in the stomach, sending him flying back into the other man close behind him and to the floor. The elevator doors closed to the nurse's angry shouts. Tristan had never seen or heard someone act like that.

The Killjoy grabbed Tristan by the shoulders and trapped her with his serious stare. "You have two options," he said with a voice just as grave. "Either stay here and make up some excuse as to why you were with me, or come along with me."

"Go where with you?" Tristan asked with a shake of her head. This was all getting even more confusing. "Why—"

"If you come with me, I'll explain everything." He cast a glance at the glowing numbers above the doors; they were at floor 2 now. "Choose quick."

Tristan was forced to think over what was happening too quickly to make much more sense of anything. She had no idea what a Killjoy was, but by the sound of that nurse, it didn't sound like a good thing to be. But if she didn't go with him, she would _never_ know what it was or why he had done all that he did.

The doors opened, but Tristan hadn't decided. "I don't know!" she shouted. Her eyes started to tingle and her throat was tight, but she didn't know why. Maybe she was dying again.

"Please," he replied with a soft force. "Come with me."

His eyes were burning her now. His were so different from anyone she's ever known because of their light. She almost felt like she knew him. It made her decision for her. "Okay."

The boy grinned and let out a breath, but the smile disappeared at the sound of an elevator. The Killjoy took Tristan's hand and dragged her to the front doors. When he tried to open the closest one, it wouldn't move. "Shit," he hissed. Tristan didn't know what it meant, but before she could start wondering, the boy caught sight of the masked men and suddenly ran at them.

"What are you _doing_?" Tristan shouted in terror. They were going to hurt him, she thought, but he ended up punching one of _them _in the face; the man went down, and the Killjoy stole two things from his belt. He ran back with an identification card while shoving the other white thing Tristan couldn't see into the waistband of his pants and swiped the card through the digital lock. The tiny red light turned green, and the two ran through the door with the uninjured man right behind them. The next door didn't need the card, so they burst onto the lamp-lit street with both men coming after them.

The man with the lead grabbed the back of Tristan's shirt. She gasped in surprise and fear, but the boy turned and hit him hard in the face. There was a sickening crunch under the mask, and the man fell. The Killjoy snatched Tristan's hand back again and pulled at her since she wasn't moving. Once she got to running, she shook her hand free so she could pump her arms and run faster. In school, all of the students were required to take a Fitness class to stay in shape. The class's only requirement was to go to the Gymnasium and use the equipment for the entire class period, so Tristan spent it on the running belt. With exercise every day and being so small, she was able to run very fast. The boy ran slower than her, but his long-legged strides made up for it, and he was able to keep up. That was good, considering he was the one leading them through the streets of Battery City.

The men in masks chased them through the night, and suddenly there was a _pew. _A building to Tristan's right was hit with a bright ball of white light, and a black mark smoked where it had hit the white wall. She gasped through her labored breathing at the same time the boy pulled the object he had stolen before from his pants. He suddenly stopped and whirled around, a white plastic gun raised in both hands. As Tristan skidded to a stop and went back, he fired a shot, and the man holding the gun fell to the sidewalk. The unarmed man ran passed his fallen comrade like he wasn't even there and came at them, but two more shots took care of him. The boy lowered his arms.

Tristan could do nothing but stare at the gun. He had just killed two men, and was now jogging back to them for some reason. Tristan followed. The Killjoy kneeled next to the man who had been unharmed and lifted his rubber mask to see his face. His face was red in one spot—probably where he had been hit. The boy sighed, put the man's mask back down, and moved to the next one. This man's face was covered in blood when the mask was lifted away, but something about it made the Killjoy sigh in the same way he had before. After taking the man's gun, he pulled a nauseous Tristan up and started walking. "We have to get out of here before someone comes looking for us," he said as he put the new gun in his waistband. He stopped when he realized she wasn't following. He walked back to where he had left her and tugged at her wrist. "Coming?"

It was too much. She had just escaped the hospital and was now running around with some stranger that was being hunted by people in masks that had just been killed right in front of her. Her emotions of fear and confusion and just general _unhappiness _swirled around inside her head like nothing else had ever before. She had never felt this way and didn't know what to do. Her stomach was queasy, and her head was now pounding with a headache—both things she's never remembered feeling _ever_. Everything was so foreign and unnatural to her that she got that tingling feeling in her eyes and the throat burning from before. Tristan shook her head as if she could shake away everything she was feeling. "I—I can't—"

"Shit, you're cryin'," he muttered.

"What?" Tristan reached up to her eyes and wiped water away. She knew what crying was, but as far as she remembered, she's never done it. Her eyes didn't tingle anymore, but her throat still felt strange. Maybe that went along with crying.

"Do you hear that?" the boy suddenly asked. Tristan tried to concentrate and heard a rumbling sound. "Cars," he said. "They're coming."

Tristan looked down the street, but she didn't see a car. Not many people drove them anymore. "We have to go," she said. Her voice was uneven because of her sore throat. It's never been sore before, so it was extremely uncomfortable.

The Killjoy stared at her. "You're still coming with me?" he asked.

"I can't go back now," she replied. "Can I?"

"You can do whatever you want. They probably won't suspect you of anything. It's me they want. Stay or go?"

Tristan looked at the two men on the ground. "You killed them."

"What?" He followed her gaze. "No, I stunned them. They'll wake up eventually." He didn't sound happy about that. He glanced down the street and said, "They'll be here any minute. You have to choose. Now."

Tristan tried to make a split-second decision while under the pressure of hearing the cars get louder with each second. There was no guarantee she would be seen innocent, but then again, how much danger would she be in if she didn't go back? "I don't know!" she cried. Tears tickled as they leaked from her eyes. She fisted her hands in her messy hair. "What do I do?" she whimpered to the boy.

"I can't choose for you," he replied. He looked down the street again and hesitated. "I have to go."

"You can't!" But he was already backing away slowly. The Killjoy opened the door to a random apartment building and disappeared inside.

The sounds of cars was growing. Before she knew what she was doing, Tristan threw the door open that the boy had went through and went inside. The Killjoy was right behind it; she ran into him and almost fell, but he grabbed her arms and pulled her inside before shutting the door silently again. He put an ear to the door for a moment. "What—" Tristan tried to ask, but he put a finger to his lips for her to keep quiet. After another minute of listening, the Killjoy left the door and wandered into the apartment. Tristan didn't want to be alone, so she followed.

"Are you going to tell someone you're here?" Tristan whispered to the boy's back.

The boy made a sort of snorting noise. "Uh, _no_," he replied, looking back at her. "Whoever lives here wouldn't be happy if two random teenagers were here."

Tristan froze. "You mean you don't live here? Then what are we _doing here_?"

"We have a long trip," the Killjoy said as he kept walking. "We need food and water."

Tristan caught up with him. "That's _stealing_," she felt the need to say, even though she was fully aware that he didn't need reminding.

"It's collecting available resources," he corrected. "They won't miss a couple bottles of water and a little bit of food. Or would you rather leave now and die of thirst in the desert?"

They had made it to the kitchen area; the boy went to the cabinet and looked around in it. The lights built into the cabinet lit his face eerily and made his eyes look strangely fluorescent. The Killjoy took two Power Bars and moved to the refrigerator, where he found two bottles of water. He gave a bar and bottle to Tristan and whispered, "Let's go."

The two left the house cautiously. The sound of cars was gone. The Killjoy took out one of the stolen guns and held it in one hand as he went ahead of Tristan with caution. When it was deemed safe, the boy waved for her to follow and started down the street.

"What now?" Tristan asked when she caught up with him.

"And now," he replied, "we walk."

**If someone reviewed this, I would go insane with happiness.**


	4. Deflect the System With Our Mind

4: Deflect the System With Our Mind

Tristan missed the cool air of the hospital quickly as she and her new companion trudged through the scorching desert. It was still nighttime, too, which meant that it would be hotter still as time went on. She hoped that wherever they were going wasn't far.

To distract herself from the tempting water bottle in her hand that she would make last, Tristan decided to get some answers from the Killjoy walking beside her. "What's your name?"

The boy glanced over at her with the corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. "Live Wire."

Tristan blinked. "Live Wire?"

He nodded. "You can call me Wire, if you want."

"Do you not like people calling you Live?"

Live Wire raised an eyebrow. "No. It's just that's what people tend to call me."

"Can I call you Live?"

His smirk got bigger. "Sure, bunny."

"So what's your real name?"

Live let out a dry chuckle. Did he think everything was funny since he was always smiling? He stared straight ahead as he said, "As far as anyone's concerned, that _is _my real name. BLI doesn't know my real name, and I intend for it to stay that way."

Tristan was confused at his bitter tone when he spoke of Better Living Industries. "What's wrong with BLI?"

The question made Live Wire stop completely. He wasn't smiling. Tristan skidded to a stop a step in front of him and turned to look at him. He was glaring at her in a way that made her take a step back. She wanted to shrink until he couldn't see her and wouldn't be able to look at her that way. "What's _wrong with BLI_?" he repeated incredulously. "Better Living may seem like they're trying to "make the world a better place" or whatever bullshit they feed people, but what you _obviously _don't know is that to achieve their _perfection_, they _kill _people, rip families apart, brainwash them with their damn pills, and they take away the emotions that make people human. In an attempt to rebuild mankind, they _destroyed _it." Live Wire took in a deep breath and released it. "THAT is what's wrong with BLI."

Tristan was shocked silent for several seconds. "Kill people?" she finally managed to ask in confusion. "Rip families apart? I don't understand…"

Live ran his hands through his hair, making it even more disheveled. With his eyes closed, he said, "I know you don't. I'm sorry." He opened his eyes. "They probably kept the bad parts of what they do from you."

Live Wire continued to walk, and Tristan fell into step beside him. "Have you ever seen men in masks like the ones who were chasing us before?" Tristan shook her head. "Those are Draculoids. I guess they're like secret government police. They're ordered to kill us."

"Killjoys," Tristan clarified for herself.

"Yeah."

"So what exactly _is_ a Killjoy?"

"A Killjoy is someone who doesn't like what Better Living is doing, and we try to stop it."

"So if the police are after you… that means you're a criminal."

"In the eyes of a corrupt government," he said with a smirk, "yes."

"But they why were you in the hospital if you would have been arrested anyway? Do they even treat criminals?"

Live Wire smiled widely. "_That _is a good story. Me and my group were on a raid—"

"You were stealing?" Tristan couldn't help but interrupt.

"It's all for the cause, bunny," he replied lightly. "Now may I continue?" Tristan nodded. "Well, we were on a raid, but we needed to get inside a warehouse patrolled by Dracs. Now, you should know that I'm a genius. I took out a Drac and took his uniform to get into the warehouse. I got what we needed and was almost out of there when some Dracs spotted my group and started shooting. When I shot at the Dracs, my cover was blown." Live held up his right hand, which was wrapped in a white bandage. "Got shot, but all of the Dracs were taken down. I took a blast to the leg, too, so I couldn't get to the car. I told them to leave me there, because we could hear ambulances coming. Took hell to get them to leave, but they did. The only reason I was taken to the hospital was because they thought I was a Draculoid."

"Are you okay?" Tristan finally asked. She wanted to interrupt him when he said he got shot, but she bit her tongue until he was done.

Live Wire laughed a little, but Tristan didn't think it was funny. "Yeah, I'm cool. Still a bit of a burn on the hand since the Drac was so close, but it doesn't hurt. Leg's all good."

Tristan decided to fill the silence that followed with another question. "If you don't like what BLI is doing, why not leave? Their reach only goes so far, and the entire other half of the country is empty. Why not start a government of your own there?"

"You think BLI's gonna leave all of that land open for long? If we leave, there's nothing stopping them from expanding. They could have construction all over the country in a matter of weeks—days, even. And then there's the fact that Japan's funding Better Living while we have absolutely no money. Pretty hard to start a whole government without cash."

"So how have Killjoys been getting by?"

Live Wire shrugged. "A lot was destroyed in 2012, but not everything. We live in abandoned buildings, take what we can find, and steal from warehouses."

Not knowing what to say to that, Tristan took a swig of water. She still had a little less than half of the bottle left. She noticed Live Wire eyeing it with a thirsty look, so she wordlessly held it out to him. He took it and started gulping it down.

"Hey," she said, reaching for it, "I'm making it last." Live Wire reluctantly handed it back, and she screwed the cap back on. She noticed him staring after she had directed her attention to the desert ahead. She kept staring down the lightening horizon and tried not to look at him. It didn't work. "What?"

"Why did you come with me?" he asked quietly.

"You said that you would explain everything, and I wanted to know."

Live stared at Tristan as if he was expecting her to say more. When she didn't he asked, "That's the only reason?"

"Yeah, why?"

He quickly looked away and said, "No reason."

His jaw was locked, and his eyes stayed firmly ahead. Tristan hadn't meant to upset him, but it really was the only reason she went with him. "Are you mad?"

Live Wire glanced at Tristan and relaxed his facial features with effort. At least it looked like effort to her. "No. Well, not at you. I'm mad at BLI."

Tristan didn't know what it felt like to be mad. She could probably guess what it was if she'd ever felt it, but she's never had a reason to be. "What does it feel like?" she murmured just loud enough for Live to understand.

He looked back down at her with his eyebrows brought together. "What does what feel like?"

"Anger. I don't ever remember being mad before."

"Ever?"

"No. What's it like?"

Live Wire thought for a minute. "I don't know," he said, "it gets hot, I guess? At least I do, I mean… you want to hurt someone, or hit something. You know?"

"Not really, no."

Live sighed, then looked at Tristan strangely. "You're an idiot."

"What?" Tristan stopped walking to stare at him.

"You're an idiot." He stepped back in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders. "I don't even know why I wanted you to come. You're stupid and slowing me down. You should go back now and be arrested." With that, he used his hold on her shoulders to shove her down. Then he began to walk away.

What was _that_? Tristan thought as she sat up. Her hand had hit the dirt hard, and her back hurt from slamming into the ground. She stood carefully and chased after him. When she was beside him, Tristan asked, "What was that for?"

"Don't like it?" He shoved her to the ground again. This time, her hand scraped a rock hidden in the dust, and she gasped in pain.

"That _hurt,_" Tristan growled at Live Wire. She started to get back up, but he nudged her side before she was halfway standing to make her fall. Tristan shot to her feet and pushed Live Wire in the chest as hard as she could. "Stop _doing that_!"

He had only stumbled back when she hit him, so she stomped back up to him, ready to shove him again. Before she could touch him, Live grabbed her wrists with a grin. "This," he said, "is anger."

Tristan's eyebrows pulled together in confusion—and anger, she now knew. "So this was all some stupid test?"

"More like an experience," Live Wire corrected, still smirking.

Tristan yanked her wrists free. "I can't believe you," she hissed as she stormed off in the direction they had been travelling for the past hours. She didn't know where she was going, only that she wanted to get away from Live Wire.

"Wait," he called after her. She didn't turn around. He caught up to her and spun her around by the arm. To Tristan's surprise, he then pulled her into a hug. "I'm sorry," he said into her ear. "Please don't leave."

"Why not?" she grumbled.

"I need you with me," he replied in a small voice. "I don't want to be alone."

Tristan put her arms around Live's body, but didn't say anything. Her head reached the center of his chest, and she suddenly felt very small. After a minute, Live Wire pulled away and sighed. "Are you still mad?"

"Yes," Tristan replied automatically, but then doubted herself when she actually saw his pouting face and sad eyes. "Well I _want _to be," she corrected. "Quit making that face."

"This face?" He pushed his pouting lip out farther and widened his eyes.

"Stop! I want to be mad! It hurt when you pushed me." Tristan held up her hand. She only just noticed the blood dripping toward her fingers. The stream changed course when she moved her hand to flow down to her wrist.

Live Wire's eyes widened. "Shit!" he gently but firmly took her hand and examined it closely. "Shit, I swear to God I never meant to hurt you bad. Jesus Christ, I'm _so_ sorry." He took the bottle of water, uncapped it, and tipped a little onto the scrape. "This'll sting a little, sorry." He used the hem of his white shirt to gently wipe the dirt from her hand. When Tristan sucked air in through her teeth, Live apologized again.

"It's fine, honestly. Thank you for cleaning it."

"God, I shouldn't have done that—"

"It's fine," she cut off a bit impatiently. "It was an experience," she went on more calmly. "And so is this." She raised her hand.

Live Wire's mouth quirked up in one corner. "I'll make sure you get some good experiences in sometime."

Tristan smiled. "I'm looking forward to it."


	5. We're Dead Flies in the Summertime

**SOMEONE PUT THIS ON STORY ALERT KAJSHBDFFBHLGJHBl. That's my excitement, right there.**

5: We're Dead Flies in the Summertime

"Shouldn't we have been there by now?"

Tristan thought she'd been doing pretty well with not complaining; she asked Live Wire questions instead of pointing out her discomfort about the heat making rivers of sweat trickle down her back, or that she was starving, or even the fact that they'd run out of water a long time ago. And now they seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. She was due for one tiny complaint, and she even felt guilty about it.

Live Wire stopped walking, so Tristan did, too. She felt like she was going to collapse from exhaustion, thirst, hunger, and stress. She didn't agree to this. She had just wanted answers, not to die in the middle of the desert.

Live had his hands on his hips and was spinning in a slow circle to look over the land. After a full rotation, he said without too much concern, "Well fuck. I think we're lost."

"What the hell do you mean, 'we're lost'?" When Tristan was in a better mood earlier in the morning—and now it had to be the afternoon—Live Wire had told her that she needed a broader vocabulary and taught her curse words and when to use each one. This seemed like an appropriate time to use what she's learned.

"I _mean _that we are currently in an unfamiliar location that I cannot accurately navigate through to get to our _planned _destination."

"I thought you _knew where we were going_!" Tristan shouted before falling to the ground ungracefully. She didn't care, though, and she couldn't bring herself to care that the fall had hurt. "I should be at school," she moaned up at the sun with closed eyes, "in the air conditioning. I should be living an easy life mapped out for me so I won't get _lost. _I shouldn't be _lost _with some boy I don't know. I'm going to die in the desert instead of living—"

"What you were doing in Battery City," Live Wire cut in angrily, "was _existing. _You were all just _existing. _That's different from living. Living is feeling emotions and going through change and interacting with people. It's being different. You could be a _person, _Tristan Rye, with a _personality _of your very own. You have a chance to be free."

Three seconds after his speech, Tristan only remembered one part of it. "How do you know my name?"

Live paused. "What?"

"I never told you my last name," she clarified as she looked at him while sitting up a little. "How do you know it if I never told you what it was?"

He blinked. "I…" His eyes strayed away from her, then he asked, "Do you see that?"

Tristan followed his gaze, but didn't forget that he never answered her question. She was about to say that she didn't see anything but the flat desert they were lost in and accuse him of changing the subject when she spotted the small speck of a dust cloud. As they stared at it in silence, it slowly became a speeding shape.

"What is that?" Tristan asked as she stood up. She stumbled from dizziness, but Live caught her arm to steady her.

"A car, I think," he replied without looking away from the growing dust cloud.

"All the way out here?" She was about to be relieved that someone was coming this way and would hopefully rescue them when Live Wire spoke.

"Why would a car," he said with an almost eerie emptiness, "be all the way in the middle of the desert unless they were looking for something?" He finally looked at Tristan with a dark expression.

She stared at him, then the growing shape, and then back to Live. "You think it's those Draculoid things?" All he did was nod, making her shiver despite the heat. "So what do we do?"

He looked back to the car. "Run."

Fun Ghoul admired his poster hanging on the wall. They had found the wanted posters (a whole fucking box, which flattered Ghoul—he and his friends were just so important) on their last raid and had taken some to hang up for shits and giggles. Well, _he _had taken them, and the others were equally amused. "What an awful picture of me," Ghoul complained. Then he laughed and said, "Ahh, who am I kidding? I'm sexy in ANY picture."

Jet Star, who had been abandoned at the Trans Am by Ghoul, strode over. "'Course you are," he said, ruffling Fun Ghoul's hair.

Ghoul knocked the hand away and turned his eyes to Jet's picture. "It's a sad day when the majesty of the 'fro is dampened by a shit ton of gel. I'm surprised it went down."

Jet nodded. "Difficult, but not impossible," he replied. "It's also why I could never be a Drac. My hair wouldn't fit under the mask."

"They could always cut it, you know."

Jet Star stared at his friend in horror. All he could manage to do was touch the 'fro protectively and shake his head. Some things were just unthinkable.

"You guys about done with the car?" Party Poison asked as he came out of the diner. When he saw Jet staring at the wanted poster in dread while patting his hair and Ghoul holding his hands up in a square to Jet like he was envisioning something, Poison sighed and went over to the car to inspect what had to be done yet. It looked like an old battery had already been taken out and a new one was waiting on the ground to replace it, so Poison put the new battery in. The engine purred to life when Poison went and turned the key.

Kobra Kid made his way outside, sliding his ray gun into the holster at his waist. "We good to go?" he asked his brother.

"Nearly. Just gonna fill the extra gas can, then we can go."

Once the extra gas and some other emergency supplies were loaded into the trunk, the four Fabulous Killjoys piled in and set off across the desert. There's been too many Dracs for their liking out in Zone 5 that they felt obligated to get rid of. There wasn't a lot out in that Zone, but a lot of Killjoy traffic passed through to and from Zone 6 and some nearer Zones.

Party Poison drove with Fun Ghoul riding shotgun, and Kobra Kid and Jet Star were in the back. Ghoul was examining a pair of binoculars while Poison sang along with the radio under his breath; Kobra and Jet were silent most of the time, but spoke to each other occasionally about little things.

After they had gone for a little while, Fun Ghoul decided to actually use the binoculars to see if he could spy any Drac patrols that were too far off to see otherwise. It was about time for some action. He scanned the barren desert with half of his body hanging out the window when he saw something up ahead. "Keep going straight," he told Poison, "I might see something."

Poison sped up in their current direction. His thoughts were along the same lines as Ghoul's on terms of action. He squinted out the windshield, trying to see what Ghoul could. Fun Ghoul, meanwhile, could see two shapes increasing in size. "People," he noted out loud for the others to hear.

"Dracs?" Party Poison asked. "Because I don't really count them as 'people.'"

Ghoul squinted into the binoculars to try and get a better view. "No cars or 'cycles, and… nope, no masks on. They're in white clothes, though. One's got wicked orange hair. Just sayin'."

Kobra and Jet exchanged a confused glance. "Are they _civilians?_" Kobra Kid asked.

"That's the only logical thing I can come up with," Jet Star agreed. "Dracs would have called in for help if their car was busted or something."

"The red-head fell down!" Ghoul reported.

"If they _are _civilians," Party said, "what do we do with them? We can't just leave them in the middle of the desert."

"Give 'em some food and water and dump 'em near Battery City, I guess," his brother answered from the back.

"The red-head stood up," Fun Ghoul announced. "I think they saw us." There was a silence as the Killjoys waited for Ghoul to tell them what was happening up ahead. Finally, he said, "They're running." This information confused them all; Party Poison pressed harder on the gas. There was no way that the two people could outrun the car at the speed he had been going before, but he was anxious to know what was going on.

The fleeing figures drifted closer and closer as the Trans Am surged forward. The Killjoys could see the shock of red hair on the shorter one—who was a girl by the look of it—and the black hair of the taller one, which they thought could have been a boy. Neither turned around to so much as glance at the car coming towards them. Like Fun Ghoul had said before, they didn't have Draculoid masks, but they were dressed in white, dirt-stained clothes.

Within a few minutes, Party Poison was able to pull in front of the two people at a safe distance to whip around and cut off their path. The red-headed girl immediately collapsed in a puff of dirt, but the boy stayed standing.

The Fabulous Killjoys exited the car with their bandanas up and approached the duo. The boy was wobbling where he stood and the girl was still on the ground, unmoving except for labored breathing. Their white uniforms were stained with dirt and what looked like a little blood in the boy's case.

"Who are you?" Party Poison asked the boy.

After taking a few more deep breaths, the boy wiped his hand across his face and said, "Li… Live Wire." He stole a glance at the Trans Am. "So you're… them? The… Fabulous Ki… Killjoys?"

"The four and only," Fun Ghoul replied.

"If you're a Killjoy," Jet Star said, "then why are you dressed like that?"

Live Wire looked down at his BLI attire and looked back up smiling. "That," he answered, "has an interesting explanation."

Party Poison grinned. "Get in the car, then, so we can get that explanation."


	6. Make a Wish When Your Childhood Dies

There was no way out. The smoke blocked Tristan's view of any kind of escape from her house, which was in flames. She would surely die of suffocation, choking on smoke and fear.

It was too hot. She stumbled through the burning house, trying to find air, trying to find freedom from the searing heat, but she tripped and fell and just couldn't make herself get back up. This was it. This is how she would die.

"Get up," a surprisingly clear voice commanded—surprising because of the loud crackle of flames and falling bits of house. Tristan squinted up and saw a figure standing over her. It was a tall boy with messy black hair and piercing blue eyes. But what was Live Wire doing here?

"I can't," Tristan cried.

"Who not?" Live Wire crossed his arms over his chest, seeming to be more frustrated with Tristan than concerned with the fire all around them.

"It's too hard," she whimpered.

"You're giving up," he replied angrily. "You can't _ever _give up. _Ever_. Now get up." Tristan could only cough in response. "Get up! Tristan, get up! Wake up! Wake up!"

Wake up?

Tristan's eyes flew open and were stabbed with bright light. She gasped in air. It had only been a dream. That's all it was, but it was so much more at the same time. Her dreams before have _never _been this vivid—or as terrifying. She had also always been alone in her dreams.

Speaking of being alone, it was what she wasn't now. She just realized that she was clinging to a white shirt with both hands tight enough to make her knuckles match the cleaner parts of the fabric. She couldn't make herself let go, even thought she was embarrassed. Live Wire was staring down at her with intense worry, his blue eyes searching her face. "Are you okay?"

When she didn't answer, he stroked her messy hair with one hand and tilted her chin up to make her look at him with the other. "Tristan, talk to me, are you okay?"

"What happened?" Tristan murmured. She couldn't look him in the eye for more than a second with him staring at her like that, let alone lie to him and say that she was fine.

"You were asleep," Live explained, "and you were freaking out. Seriously, are you okay?"

Tristan still didn't answer the question, but mostly because she just realized that she was sitting on Live Wire's lap with her arms around his neck. She loosened the death grip on his shirt and crawled back into the seat, her face flaming with embarrassment.

"Yeah," she answered to his shoulder, "I'm okay. Just a nightmare."

Live bent his head down to try and catch Tristan's eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," she shot back quickly. That would mean telling him that he was in the dream, and she had already been in his lap; telling him that she was _dreaming _about him would be absolutely humiliating. _Just another experience. _"Uh, no, thanks, I'm fine."

Live Wire's eyes roamed her face one more time before he said, "If you say so." In the awkward pause that followed, Tristan finally took notice of the fact that they were in a car. It reminded her of the run through the desert, some people, and shocks of color. "What happened?"

"The car got to us," Live said as he opened the car door. "And who would happen to be inside but the Fabulous Killjoys."

He said the title with some kind of excitement, but Tristan didn't understand it. "The _Fabulous _Killjoys? Are they more important than the regular ones or something?"

Live Wire slid out of the car with an amused look, and Tristan followed with a confused one. "Bunny, they're _famous _to us Killjoys," he explained. "More _important_, I wouldn't say that—everyone's important to the cause—but they're probably the best in the so-called "business." That's a more accurate term to me." He turned to look at where they were. "Looks like a nice place they got for themselves here." He suddenly laughed at something that caught his eye, his head slightly inclined to see something on the roof. He pointed and said, "I have a friend who would _love _that."

Tristan stared at a small building. They were standing in the shade of a small shelter held up with beams instead of walls. There were rectangles under the shelter that read "Gas." Behind the shelter was the building. What Live Wire had been pointing at were the letters on the roof that spelled "DIE," but there was a large gap in between the I and the E, like there had been a letter there before. She didn't understand why it was funny.

"What is this place?" she asked.

"I guess it was a diner before they found it."

Tristan looked to Live Wire with confusion. "A—diner?"

Live met her blank stare and blinked. "Don't tell me you don't know what a _diner _is," he demanded incredulously. Tristan decided not to say anything, since he told her not to. "_Seriously? _It's a place where people used to come and eat."

"Oh, so the sign said "diner" before? I get it now."

Live Wire slapped a hand against his face and sighed. "Battery City doesn't have _one single _diner?"

"People have food at home. Why would they go out to eat?"

"They were travelling and stopped for food?"

"Why couldn't they wait until they got home to eat? Or to where they were going?"

"Fine. Because they don't feel like cooking."

"Food doesn't take long to prepare."

"They feel like going out, seeing people, socializing?"

"Better Living says that those are wasted emotions. The pills get rid of them."

Live Wire stared down at Tristan for a moment. "They've deprived you," he muttered in a way that made her want to have felt the need to go out and see people, because he made it sound like a very good thing. But then again, BLI says it's an "antique" and "outdated" emotion...

"Have you ever noticed this?" he asked suddenly. Live bent down and wrote BL Ind in the dirt.

"Of course I have," Tristan replied. "It's everywhere." She didn't see where Live was going with this, but she waited patiently. He made a slash in between the L and the I so that it now read BL/Ind. When he didn't explain further, Tristan admitted, "I don't get it."

"_Blind, _Tristan. That's what Better Living stands for. They blind you to everything they don't want you to see, even though some of what they're keeping from you are some of the most important things in life that anyone could—_should_—have." He stood back up from his squatting position. "Do you see now?"

"But you're biased," Tristan pointed out. Before Live could protest, she added, "BLI is too, I know. I just... don't know what to believe."

Live Wire ran his shoe over the word in the dirt to clear it away. "I'm not going to try to convince you that being a Killjoy is the way to go and that BLI is wrong. You know where I stand with that. I'll let you figure out where you stand on your own. Be who—and where—you want to be."

"But I don't _know _who I want to be!" Tristan shouted in a sudden frustration before plopping down in the dirt. She was already filthy from her traipsing around the desert—what was more dust?

"That's what this is for," Live Wire replied with a sweep of his arm to gesture at the desert and diner. He hunkered down in front of her. "You've had the BLI experience already. Now you get the Killjoy experience."

Tristan sighed. "What is it with you and experiences?"

Live started to get up. "All a part of life, Bunny." He offered Tristan a hand. She took it without hesitation and pulled herself up. Being so tired and food deprived, it took twice the normal effort.

"Let's go inside," Live suggested. "I was promised food and sleep."

At the mention of both, Tristan's stomach snarled and her eyelids threatened to slip closed. She didn't know which one she wanted first, but before she could have either, she would have meet these Fabulous Killjoys.


	7. You Children of the Gun

The two teenagers entered the diner through a glass door with a bell that tinkled above them. It startled Tristan, but she was too tired to react. She spotted the four colorful Killjoys seated in the farthest corner booth; they all looked up from their conversation when the two entered the small building. "Welcome, travelers," the one with the big hair said in a friendly enough way. He was half turned in his seat so he could see Tristan and Live Wire. The man sitting beside him was sitting sideways with his legs resting off the side of the seat; he had lank black hair over his eyes and a cigarette between lips curved into a smile. Across from him was a blond studying something on the table—Tristan couldn't see what that something was past the black-haired one—and beside the blond was someone with a bright shock of hair that Tristan couldn't distinguish the color of, because it was somewhere between red and pink.

"Hey again," Live Wire replied with a wave and a kind grin.

"There's food and water sitting over there for you," the bright-haired man said as he pointed out two cans and bottles ahead of them on a bar. Tristan and Live both went and sat; they were hardly on their stools before they began eating. When Tristan was halfway done with her food, she turned the can and read "BEEF" written in English. Under that in a smaller print and in Japanese, it said, "2 Percent Beef" and "Chemically Enriched."

"Where do you see that?" Live Wire asked as he turned his can.

"Oh—" She hadn't realized she'd spoken out loud "right here." She pointed to the Japanese text. "It's just in Japanese."

The blond raised his eyebrows and looked at her for the first time since she entered. "You know Japanese?" he asked skeptically.

"Uh, yeah," Tristan replied with a nod. "It's required at school."

"Mind telling us what's actually _in _that?" the redhead (Tristan decided that it was red after a final deliberation) asked. "Sneaky bastards wrote the ingredients in Japanese, and it'd be nice to know what I'm eating."

Tristan turned her can back around and read it with her eyebrows pulled together. "I don't know a lot of this, so I'm guessing that they're chemicals. A _lot _of chemicals... there's some kind of fillers, too, and artificial coloring... but actual beef is almost last." Tristan had never had canned beef, but had never thought to read any of the ingredients in any of the packaged food she ate.

The blond made a disgusted face. "Fuckin' nasty," he muttered. Tristan finally saw what he was messing with: a plastic red gun with "Deluxe" written in white fancy script. Tristan's eyes widened, but she thought it best to be silent and looked quickly away before he could catch her staring. She didn't want something like her discomfort of their lifestyle make them dislike her. They were feeding her, after all, and they had to steal this food. No use being ungrateful.

"Did Live Wire fill you in much?" the guy with big hair asked politely.

"I know you're Killjoys, and that you found us. That's about all."

"Well, I'm Party Poison," the redhead introduced.

"Jet Star," the big-haired man chimed in after.

The one with the black hair threw his cigarette on the floor, ground it out with the toe of his boot, cleared his throat, and announced, "I am known as Fun Ghoul. I am nineteen years old, I enjoy shooting things, and I am—obviously—extremely sexy."

Everyone just stared.

Finally, Live Wire snorted with laughter, trying to cover it with his hand. "_Obviously,_" Party Poison said with a laugh. Jet Star laughed along with them, and Tristan and the unnamed blond cracked smiles. Fun Ghoul, meanwhile, put a hand on his chest and looked offended. "And _what _is so _funny?_"

No one could contain themselves with that. Tristan tried to stifle giggles with her hands, but quickly gave up and laughed freely. Only when the laughter started to die down did Tristan realize that she hadn't laughed at all since before the fires.

Live Wire seemed to notice a change in her face. "What's up?" He nudged Tristan's arm with his elbow and went back to eating his chemical beef.

"Nothing," she lied quietly. She didn't want to admit that she hadn't so much as smiled in the past seven years. It sounded like something that Killjoys wouldn't like to hear, and she was already enough of an outsider.

"Mm—mmm," Live protested. He swallowed his food and whispered so the conversation was private, "I will not stand for that. Now what's wrong?"

Before she could reply, Fun Ghoul continued introductions with, "Whatever, that's Kobra Kid, and we're the Fabulous Killjoys," before engaging in conversation with Party Poison.

Tristan knew she wasn't going to get out of answering Live Wire, so she decided to just get it over with. "It's nothing, really. It's just that I... I don't remember the last time I've laughed. Or if I ever have. It's stupid, but..." She let her sentence hang.

Live Wire absently stirred at his food with his fork without saying anything. After a silent minute, he finally muttered, "I know I said I wouldn't try to sway you, but you have to admit that that's bad."

"I know." Tristan didn't know how much laughing was normal, but seven years wasn't. They both went back to eating in silence. Tristan wondered what chemicals she had consumed in the last seven years before thinking about what she'd missed out on in that time. Part of her reasoned that she would surely be dead now if not for Better Living Industries. If she _had _somehow survived, she would be living alone in the middle of nowhere. BLI gave her food and shelter and education and safety. Safety from people like Killjoys, who were criminals, some probably even proud of the fact.

Tristan couldn't help but sneak glances at the other Killjoys. She remembered how Live had fought the Draculoids back at the hospital. The four in the corner booth suddenly laughed at something that was said. They looked completely harmless—even nice—but then she reminded herself of Kobra Kid's red gun. She seriously doubted that he was the only one that had one.

Live Wire had said earlier that Draculoids were like BLI's secret police, who killed Killjoys. She just couldn't believe that Better Living could train people to kill others when the entire company was about rebuilding the country and making people the best that they could be. Either Live Wire was lying to her or BLI was keeping secrets—two things that she didn't want to believe possible. Could _nothing _be simple?

"You gonna eat that?" Live Wire asked as he eyed Tristan's can of unfinished food. She pushed it towards him wordlessly and finished her water in one last gulp. As Live started in on Tristan's can, he asked casually, "You alright?"

"Yeah," she replied without thought, "just..." She ran a hand through her hair. It was greasy and gritty with dirt. It probably looked terrible; her body felt the same way.

"If you're done," Party Poison called, "there's a bathroom in the back where you can clean up. There's no running water, but there's bottles of water, soap, extra toothbrushes and toothpaste..."

"Uh, thanks," Tristan murmured shyly. She didn't want to be eating their food and using their supplies while giving nothing back in return, but the food had given her some energy and she felt absolutely disgusting. She went back to where Party Poison had pointed and found two doors: a men's restroom on one side of the hall and a women's on the other. She figured that nothing would be in the women's since there were no girls in the diner, so she went to the men's.

This must have been some kind of live-in residence or something, Tristan mused when she saw the shower across from the small sink and cabinet. How long did people stay at diners? She didn't wonder too much, being so grateful that there was, in fact, a shower, even with the lack of plumbing. She found the bottles of water in the cabinet, along with lots of bars of soap, as if they had stocked up. She took one of each and stripped out of her dirty and sweat-dampened clothes to wash as quickly as she could.

When she was clean and dressed, she ventured back to the cabinet and found the spare toothbrushes and toothpaste she had been promised and took one of each. As she brushed her grimy-feeling teeth thoroughly, she noticed a white cardboard box with holes cut into it to hold five toothbrushes. They were all identical except for the letters written on each of them: PP, FG, JS, KK, and Dr. D. She knew the first four stood for the Killjoys out in the diner, but who is Dr. D?

Live was probably waiting for a shower, Tristan reminded herself. She rinsed and spit, then left the small bathroom.

She could see Kobra kid at the end of the hall. He noticed her, too; he was about to keep walking passed, but he stopped and stepped back in confusion. He went down the hall and asked, "Were you just in the guys' bathroom? Did you not see...?" He pointed to the sign on the women's restroom.

"No, uh—well, yes, I saw, but figured since it's only men here, I figured nothing would be in there. I'm sorry," she tacked on quickly. Kobra Kid didn't seem to like her much in their short time in the same room before.

"No, it's fine," he replied, not unkindly at all. "But other people live here, but they're gone for now. Grace and Show Pony use the women's restroom. You can use that one, if you want."

"Uh... thank you." Tristan didn't know what else to say. Kobra Kid nodded and turned to walk back to the main part of the diner. Tristan followed, making sure not to stand too close. She was a little less afraid of him now that he's said more than three words, but she was still wary of making him mad somehow. She didn't want to see his gun up close.

Live Wire was standing over at the booth where the Fabulous Killjoys were sitting. It sounded like he was telling the group about where he and Tristan were heading.

"The church is in Zone Six," Live said to them. "Where were we when you found us?"

"The inside edge of Zone Five," Party Poison answered. "I don't think I've ever seen the church before, though, so I don't know how close you were to it."

"Where are we now?"

Party Poison grinned like he was amused by the question. "Zone Three."

Live Wire looked horrified. "Oh my _god, _we walked through a whole zone for _nothing_?"

Fun Ghoul stood and slapped a hand on the boy's shoulder with a lopsided grin. "Yes. Now quit whining and go bathe. And your clothes make me itchy and paranoid. I'm getting you and Red something more suitable for this _fine_ desert establishment." Fun Ghoul waved an arm to gesture towards the diner.

"Eager to get me out of my clothes, are you?" Live Wire asked with a playful quirk of his eyebrow.

Tristan's face flushed—why would Live Wire say something so... inappropriate? "You're not my type," Fun Ghoul said in the same joking tone of voice. Was talking of such things _normal _for Killjoys? "Maybe Show Pony would go for you."

"Who's Show Pony?"

The older Killjoy's thin lips twitched like he was holding back a grin. "A dude."

Live Wire blinked twice. "Oh."

"Uh huh. Anyway, I'll chuck some clothes outside the bathroom door. And for the record, Pony's a _pretty_ guy." Fun Ghoul squinted and looked up at nothing in particular. "A little girly-looking, actually," he mused. He then turned to Tristan and stared at her thoughtfully before using both hands to tilt her head different ways as he squinted at her. She let him do so, not sure why he was doing it or what she should do. "You remind me of him, in the face."

"She reminds you of a guy?" Jet Star asked from his seat in the booth. Tristan's face flared with embarrassed heat.

Fun Ghoul threw his hands up in defense. "A _pretty _guy! I said he looked girly, didn't I?" He sighed. "Come on, Red. Let's make you look like a Killjoy of the most fabulous variety."


End file.
